


Better Left Unheard

by nightshadesfall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Graphic descriptions of violence will come later, Hard of Hearing Harry, Hogwarts First Year, Parseltongue, Snakes, Vernon Dursley bashing, nice!Dudley, nice!Petunia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshadesfall/pseuds/nightshadesfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't what the wizarding world expected him to be. Instead of a hardened warrior with wands as his weapons, he has wit hidden up his sleeves and he hides behind the comfort of pen and paper. Seeing this boy on the front line isn't likely, but he'll hide behind as many pseudonyms as possible to get his message across. Warriors can start the fire but Harry will try his damndest to put it out.</p><p>His new life in the wizarding world is faced with meddling, blatant ableism from his peers and teachers, malfunctioning hearing aids, and lots and lots of ink and parchment. Fixing the system won't be easy, but he's determined to try. If he won't try, who else will?</p><p>Harry Potter-Evans will do almost anything to make his aunt and parents proud, even if it means sacrificing his own name in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Left Unheard

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: brief descriptions of vomit, blood, and implications of abuse. Plus blatant ableism.

Chapter One: Unknown 

Part One: Unknown Words

Harry looked at his Aunt Petunia, then back at the two strange people who sat on the couch in the middle of the Potter-Evans' flat. His aunt looked to be frozen to her chair, not even able to take a sip of her tea. She just stared at the couch, her pale blue eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything else.

Since he couldn't look to his aunt for guidance on how to act around these people, Harry straightened his back and sipped his now cold cup. "So you two are saying I'm famous?" He raised his right eyebrow, hoping to get an answer. The short man with the ridiculous moustache had been explaining everything, with a scroll and a floating quill writing down everything he had said about fame and death.

The woman with thinning lips and a perfect posture managed to thin her lips even further. Harry couldn't catch the words coming out of her mouth, but she took her pointy witch hat off her head and set it down forcefully on the table -- making Petunia's favourite blue teapot and favourite baby pink tea cups shake. He could tell that the tense air was broken by her harsh words.

Aunt Petunia still stirred the tea in the cup with the tiny metal spoon clinking against the side of it. She looked like she was stuck, forever in the motion. "Auntie? What's going on?" That snapped her out of it, Harry thought with an inner smirk.

His aunt placed the cup on the table and stood up, her once perfectly put together hair falling out of place. Aunt Petunia looked like someone had just kicked her dog, killed it, and then roasted it and served it to her. Her mouth opened and shut several times, until her hands balled into fists and she lifted her head up.

" _How dare you,_ " she said. Aunt Petunia's eyes shut, and she looked like she was remembering something.

Harry gathered up all the forgotten cups on the platter and rushed into the kitchen, carefully placing everything in the sink and then running the water. The steam from the hot water always calmed him down, and it was easier to wash dishes than it was to read lips. Besides, it had been so easy to get caught up in the scrubbing, the sweet smelling soap suds, rush of the water. He barely even noticed that he had been scrubbing at his hands, until he noticed how raw his fingers felt.

Harry had the gist of what had gone on in the living room, but he hadn't been exactly sure. The woman and the man had obviously been a witch and a wizard. The emerald green hat, wands, and moving quill had clued him in. There were other people, like him. Wizards! Aunt Petunia had told him about that, over a mug of hot chocolate and treacle tart. Her eyes had been downcast and her lower lip quivered.

Harry's mother had died in an accident, involving a wizard and a killing curse. That's all Aunt Petunia knew. The letter, stained with added tears and drops of tea, had shook in her bony fingers.

Someone placed their hand on his shoulder and he spun around to find that his aunt had apparently finished her tirade. She put her hands on both of his shoulders then looked him in the eye. "Have you ever thought that I kept your past from you, Harry?" Aunt Petunia spoke loud enough to be heard and clearly enough that Harry didn't have to grasp at straws to hear/see what she had said.

"No, Auntie." He shook his head and smiled at her, then he tilted his head to the side to get a better angle and to hopefully hear better. But she didn't go on -- she just stood there.

Whatever the lady had said had obviously shaken her up, because her pale eyes looked close to tears.

Harry hugged his aunt, hoping that she would explain why she had been so upset. "It'll be okay, Auntie. We'll be fine."

When he had been released from the hug, Harry peered into the living room. But no one was there. Only the quill had been left, but in front of his eyes, it vanished.

***

Part Two: Unknown Motives

_Dear Mister Harry Potter,_

_I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have many titles, but you are young and I will not bore you with the ramblings of an old man. Since I am to help you with information as per Minerva McGonagall's request, I figure that I should not start out by boring you._

_As mentioned before, I run a school for young witches and wizards like yourself. We have a multitude of classes, such as: Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, History of Magic, Astronomy, Herbology and a few others. We have the best of wicthes and wizards coming from our school. The best in the world, in fact. Your parents came to my school and they were one of the greatest witches and wizards of their year! However, don't tell anyone else I said that. Favouritism is not something I'm supposed to be showing!_

_It has come to my attenion that you are hearing impaired, which comes with burdens and difficulties that normal young wizards don't normally come to face. It has also come to my attention that your relatives have been hiding your past from you. So I have sent this letter in hopes to ease your young worry and give you a --dare I say? -- a shoulder to depend on._

_Since you are hearing impaired, I would like to tell you that my school would be able to fix your ailments and restore your body to its full potential. You will be able to live a normal life, able to hear people speak again and be able to hear the birds chirping._

_I presume that your relatives have told you about magic, but if they haven't, please inform me so that I will be able to provide information. I suspect that they may be keeping it from you. It is indeed a wonderful thing and life can be bleak without it. Just as life can be bleak without hearing._

_I await your reply,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Albus Dumbledore,_

_My name is Harry Potter-Evans. Feel free to check my legal records! Please, address these letters to my actual name. I would go tell my aunt about this letter, since it's sent by a strange person and delivered by a probably disease ridden bird. But, for my sake and for your health, I'll keep this between us until you overstep your boundries._

_First of all, sir, I am not hearing impaired. Where you got the term, I have no clue. I am hard of hearing! I have hearing aids that help me with speech if I want to use them. They are uncomfortable! And if you plan to offer me a cochlear implant, then stop. They have been offered to me before and I don't want one._

_I don't need to be fixed, sir. I am perfectly fine. Nothing is missing from my life. The nerve that you would just send a letter to me, expecting that I would accept you is weird! Stranger danger, of course. You could be out to kill me, or something._

_My aunt has told me what little she knows about magic. Magic killed my mum and dad, magic spawns frog eggs and teacups, magic is what gives life to the world. That is what she has seen, I guess. The letter she got, when I was dropped on the doorstep, didn't tell her much about anything._

_If you want to blame her because I don't know much about your world, then stop. She told me what she knew, and that's it._

_This is my reply,_

_Harry Potter-Evans_

***

Part Three: Unknown Pain

Harry rolled up the letter and handed it to the owl, not sure what to really do. Unfortunately, since it didn't have hands, the letter fell to its feet. The animal, with spotted feathers and large beady black eyes, seemed to look at him with a disgusted look. "I don't know what you want!" He said, throwing his hands in the air before it could nip him with its beak.

Harry's heart fluttered. "If only you were a snake," he muttered.

The owl looked down to the letter, then looked up at Harry. If owls could have emotions, this one would probably be extremely ticked off. 

"Do you want me to put it in your beak or something?" Harry raised his eyebrow, then when the bird ruffled its feathers, he took two steps back. Aunt Petunia hated birds of any sort and she had been sure to install a fear of them into the two children under her care.

"Woah, okay. Don't hurt me." 

Reaching his right arm out, Harry snatched the letter away from the bird and watched as it tilted its head to the side. Maybe, he thought, it isn't permanently pissed off. Maybe it just looked like that all the time.

The owl ruffled its feathers once more, this time stretching its long brown wings out. In front of Harry's eyes,it started to take flight. Just soaring in rather pointless (and frightening) circles in the middle of his bedroom, until it swooped down and stole the letter with its sharp talons.

Harry gasped as the talons scraped his hand when it took off. He could only stare at his bleeding hand, watching as the blood dripped onto the floor. One by one the drops trickled down, until he finally snapped out of his daze. In hindsight, it probably would have been better to have just stood there.

Instinct took over and he began to wipe his hand off on his shirt. Pain flared like fireworks and he took his hand away, trying to blow on it, as if doing that would make the wound and the burning sensation go away.

His eyes managed to glance down at his t-shirt, and he realized that a darker color had smeared across his favourite soft blue shirt. From the side of his chest to the middle of his stomach. And that made the material cling to his skin more than the summer sweat did.

Maybe, if Aunt Petunia hadn't taken Harry away from Vernon Dursley, the boy wouldn't be fazed by the sight of blood. Maybe, he wouldn't have started to feel dizzy and felt the room spin around him. And just maybe, he would have kneeled over and thrown up pudding and mince meat pie all over the floor.


End file.
